


Dean isn't cursed, he's just terminally stupid

by FrancesHouseman



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean's Mouth, M/M, Oral Fixation, Sam's Fingers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:45:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5582710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancesHouseman/pseuds/FrancesHouseman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He watches Dean's mouth tremble, delicately taut against whatever he's holding in there. Sam wants to brush away the tiny black dot caught on his lip but can't bring himself to touch. “What's in your mouth, Dean?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean isn't cursed, he's just terminally stupid

 

Dean startles when Sam opens the door, and looks shifty as fuck. Sam kicks the door closed with a sigh and sets down the bags containing their lunch. There are semi-naked women on TV, a movie from the early seventies starring aliens _and_ cavemen, but nothing for Dean to be so jumpy about. Sam's eyes dart to Dean's lap just to be sure, but his jeans are fastened and he's not even trying to cover himself.

 

Sam narrows his eyes. “What?” he says.

 

Dean doesn't answer but makes a face that says, _Who, me?_ and it's obvious he's hiding something. It's stupid because they're waiting out a possible hex: twenty four hours before they can be sure the witch had missed Dean, and Sam needs to know if something's wrong.

 

Dean's lips are closed but only barely. Whatever he's hiding, it's in his mouth. 

 

If the witch hadn't missed and the curse is something embarrassing then it would be just like Dean to hide it from Sam and try to deal with it on his own. Sam goes to the bed and sits by Dean's side. Dean scowls and shoves at him but Sam ignores it. 

 

“Can you talk?” Sam says. Dean scowls harder and moves to stand, probably planning to escape to the bathroom, lock himself in and leave Sam alone to worry for however long it takes for either the curse to pass, or for Dean to get desperate enough to ask for help. And fuck that. Sam grabs him and manhandles him back against his mountain of pillows, stolen from both beds. 

 

Dean struggles but only half heartedly. He manages to jab an elbow in Sam's sternum, and grumbles, “Mmm MMM!” 

 

“Yeah. No,” Sam says, pinning Dean's arms, and Dean gives it up. He doesn't need to speak to communicate that Sam's the biggest fucking mother hen of the brood, but this close-up Dean's eyes are impossibly pretty and Sam gets distracted. He watches Dean's mouth tremble, delicately taut against whatever he's holding in there. Sam wants to brush away the tiny black dot caught on his lip but can't bring himself to touch. “What's in your mouth, Dean?” 

 

Dean closes his eyes briefly, then gestures to the bedside table with a jerk of his chin, and the half empty packet of poppy seeds.

 

It startles a laugh from Sam. Dean isn't cursed, he's just terminally stupid. “You're trying to get high eating poppy seeds?” 

 

Dean renews his struggles, defiant but with a definite hint of embarrassment creeping in around the edges. It's a good look on him. 

 

“Nu uh Dean,” Sam says, fascinated, ignoring Dean's murderous glare and his muffled protests. “I think you're gonna have to spit or swallow. Which is it gonna be?”

 

Dean groans. His body changes under Sam, shifting from innocent to erotic faster then Sam can think, but it's not, that's not... Sam hadn't meant...

 

A small gap has opened at the centre of Dean's lips, revealing the mass of poppy seeds inside. Sam fits his fingertip over the hole, fascinated, and Dean moans again. “Shit,” Sam says, voice hushed and raw. Dean's eyes stay closed as he pushes his body up against Sam. The length of his cock presses against Sam's thigh and Sam's forefinger pushes into the damp mass of seeds colonising Dean's mouth. 

 

The seeds are manifold, moist, and they spill out over Dean's lips as Sam displaces them. Dean whimpers, opening wider to allow Sam full access. Sam adds another finger and the seeds ooze over Dean's cheeks and chin. Sam scoops them out, exploring the places they leave behind, feeling around Dean's gums and his teeth. 

 

When most of the seeds are gone, Dean sucks around Sam's fingers, saliva flooding and slicking the way. He hums vibrations, tongue teasing Sam's knuckles with a knowing look that goes straight to Sam's cock. Sam's hard at an awkward angle in his jeans but can only squirm his hips, unwilling to adjust himself and risk losing the moment. 

 

Sam offers Dean another finger, and Dean accepts it easily, which has no right to be so fucking hot. He gives him another, shoving in all four fingers, and Dean takes them like he was born for it. He rubs his thumb over the stretch of Dean's lips, and continues to use and abuse Dean's mouth as Dean works to get himself off on Sam's thigh. 

 

Dean's pupils are blown and his eyes alternately watch Sam half-lidded and roll in pleasure. Sam is distantly aware that his own mouth is hanging open, dangerously close to Dean's seed spattered lips.  _The poppy seed high worked,_ Sam thinks giddily, and there's hysteria waiting for him when this is over. It's held at bay by for now though, by the smell of Dean's saliva mixed with the wet seeds, and the exquisite feeling of the last few seeds inside Dean's mouth sliding against Sam's fingers as he fucks Dean with them. 

 

Dean humps Sam's leg fast and firm, chasing his climax, and Sam can't find any air to breathe, can only watch him fall apart and feel it happen. It's a beautiful thing. Dean's mouth goes soft around Sam's fingers and his eyebrows peak in the middle, an expression that could be mistaken for worry or pain if Sam couldn't feel Dean's body seizing beneath him. Sam holds his thigh tense as Dean's cock pulses and the inevitable wet patch seeps through both layers. 

 

“Jesus, Dean,” Sam says, but Dean doesn't answer. He just lies there all lax, and Sam's so close. He just needs to get a hand on himself, just a few squeezes so he can get off, but it's weird now. Dean won't look at him, turning his face away so that Sam's fingers fall free, and then he's up, walking away from Sam and shutting himself in the bathroom anyway. 

 

“Fuck,” Sam breathes, shakily. “Fucking fuck.” He wants to come so bad and he kind of wants to cry, but mostly he wants Dean to come back and talk to him. 

 

Sam has half a minute to worry about what he's just done to their relationship before Dean yells, “Jesus motherfucking Christ!” from the bathroom. The fear in his voice has Sam shouldering open the flimsy lock and barging in before he can think it through.

 

Dean's jeans and his underwear are bundled around his knees. His cock and balls hang soft and vulnerable, and Sam shouldn't stare but he can't look away. There's a wet sheen at the tip of Dean's cock and Sam's mouth waters.

 

“Sam!” Dean snaps, yanking on the furry thing at his hip, but it doesn't come free, almost as though it's attached to Dean's... oh. 

 

Dean covers his face in misery. A few stray poppy seeds remain visible on his chin. 

 

“It's probably not permanent,” Sam reassures him, reaching over tentatively at first, and then more confidently when Dean doesn't resist, to stroke the plush fur covering Dean's tail.

 


End file.
